Sweet N' Sour
by TheOneAndOnly1993
Summary: There may be a lot of things Sour Bill hates, but there is one things he actually likes. One good thing that certainly outweighs the bad.


**Sweet N' Sour**

**A Short Drabble by TheOneAndOnly1993**

* * *

_Sour Bill hates a lot of things. He hates the 'Sugar Rush' racers, mostly._

"Augh! Leave me alone!" As fast as he could, Bill paddled one disembodied foot after the other in a hopeless effort to put distance between himself and the stampede of giggling children. _  
_

"Get 'em!" cried Venellope, laughing, to which Swizzle said, "I wanna drop him from the Cola Mountain!"

"Just let me do my job!" sobbed Bill, running out of breath. Still clutched in his small, sticky green hands, was a mop. The sour ball blindly threw the mob behind him, hardly slowing the children's pace. Sour Bill made a run for the Sugar Mountain slopes.

_He hates being licked._

"Don't..." whispered Bill, eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, "...please don't."

Vanellope held the sour ball in her hands, watching his legs swing from side to side in a steady hypnotic rhythm. "Hmm... why?"

"Uh..." Sour Bill blinked, unsure of how respond. "Because you're the princess, I mean, president of 'Sugar Rush' and you wouldn't do that to your faithful steward?" He gave a weak smile.

Vanellope tapped her chin, giving it a moment of thought. As she did, she briefly twirled Bill on one finger like a basketball. He slumped back into the palm of her hand, looking greener than usually. Finally, von Schweetz replied with a blunt, "Nah." Bill's face fell into a sullen horror.

"Sorry, Jarvis," she heckled, then, without warning, dragged her tongue slowly and agonizingly across Bill's face.

The melancholy steward coughed as if he had just escaped drowning in a swimming pool. "Ugh! Blech! That's disgusting!" he shuddered. "Oh! It's worse than the wrecker's!" Vanellope giggled at her assistant's struggling disposition.

_He hates cleaning. _

Bill was standing at the kitchen sink, submerging his gradually shrinking hands into the tub of soapy warm water; the bags under his eyes looked blacker and heavier than usual.

"Another clean dish," he muttered under his breath, placing it gently atop the seventh stack of twenty-foot-high dishes. He looked to his left and groaned in disdain at the hundreds of grime-coated pots and pans still in need of a good scrubbing.

As he reached for a pot emitting a raunchy dried-rice pudding aroma, Bill heard the door open. Venellope sauntered by, chewing on a piece of bubblegum with her hoodie up and her hands in her pockets. "'Sup, Sour Ball?"

No answer. Just a grunt. _'No respect to even call me by my name. At least King Candy had some decency.' _

"Hey, Bill?" asked Venellope, smoothly, breaking into her steward's thoughts and ascending his platform until she was standing right over him.

"What is it..." Bill sighed, "...my president?"

Venellope rocked back and forth on her heels in a childish manner. "Well, the other princesses and I are having our weekly meetup, and it's _my _turn to host it in my game, so..."

"You want me to have all these dishes cleaned, food prepared, and the castle tidied up in at least six hours or a later and more punctual time frame? Your president-ness," stated, not confirmed, Bill. His caustic mannerism was either ignored or lost on his master.

Venellope's gum bubble popped; she bent over and pat her assistant on his sticky bald head. "Aw, you're a real pal, Bill. Billy. Billy-fo-filly." The little girl hopped down from the platform and skipped out of the kitchen, humming a merry tune.

Bill's frown slunk into a grimmer, more depressing one. "I didn't say 'yes'." The sour ball submerged his face under the water in a pointless effort to drown himself, despite knowing full-well that he'd just re-spawn.

_He hates having to dress and undress Venelope. _

"Your president-ness?" came a monotone voice from his mistress's bedroom door. He awaited for a response that never came. "President Venellope?" he called again.

Bill entered Venellope's master bedroom. The room was dark, save for a birthday candle-themed lantern on her bedside. It was there that he found his master, cast in the flame's flickering orange glow, slumped up against the bed in a rather uncomfortable position and sleeping like a rock; crayons and colored pictures were strewn all about the room.

The sour ball shook his head, or rather, his whole body. "Great. Not again," he mumbled, dispassionately.

Bill scuttled towards Venellope, who wasn't roused from her sleep by the candy's pattering footsteps against tile. He undid her licorice scrunchie, disinterestedly watching her shiny black hair fall to her shoulders. Bill grabbed her sweater by the sleeve and pulled. He found himself having to anchor his feet into the scarlet rug and pull extra hard until the sweater came popping off Venellope's head; she was wearing her usual white tank top underneath, which suited Bill just fine.

He proceeded to pull off her boots, then her socks. Bill took one, hard look at the white and green-striped tights she still wore on her legs and said with a straight face, "No."

Bill scurried over to Venellope's massive dresser, having to jump to even reach the bottom drawer. With a stroke of luck (and a nearby stack of books), he managed to reach the drawer and retrieve a peppermint-green nightie. Bill tiredly returned to his master, whom was still asleep, and he clothed her with the nightie with little effort. Then he nonchalantly removed her tights and lazily tossed them aside.

Now fully dressed for bed, Sour Bill lifted his mistress up to her queen-sized bed and tucked her under the covers; she gave an adorable yawn and turned to the side. "Have a good night's rest, your majesty," droned Bill, hopping down from Vanellope's bed.

_But if there's one thing he loved..._

Guided by dying candlelight, Bill collected the crayons strewn around the floor and compulsively arranged them to be in their right placements within the crayon box; he neatly set it on the nightstand. Struggling to fight against the urge to fall asleep on the spot, Bill quickened his pace and picked up the drawings littered around the bedroom.

Normally, he'd ignore them and just arrange them into a neat stack like always; but a flash of green on one of the pages caused Bill to curiously investigate: the picture was of a crudely drawn green ball with eyes, held in the arms of a little girl wearing a green sweater and her hair done up in a ponytail.

He was sure the ball was just a sickly Pac-Man, until he actually read the note in the corner: _'__To my second bestest friend, Sour Ball! Happy birthday, dude!'_

_'Happy birthday?' _Bill shifted his teary-eyed gaze to the sleeping mass in the bed, and smiled. "I didn't even know I had a birthday..."

_...it was serving under President Vanellope von Schweets. And that made it all worthwhile in the end. _


End file.
